


Have A Little Faith

by Mandergee



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3681066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandergee/pseuds/Mandergee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted by the word 'Snowflake', and the Tumblr-based headcannon that suggested Melinda May, while terrible at cooking, is absolutely fantastic at mixing drinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have A Little Faith

"What is this?"

"A snowflake." May stared dubiously at the drink in front of him, narrowing her eyes as he began to slowly rotate the glass. Is the color right? I thought the last one was a bit more khaki. "You asked me to make you a drink- this is the drink you get."

"When we were back at the Academy, I seem to remember you were more on the traditional side of things. Rum and coke, gin and tonic..." Fingers curled around it, Coulson lifted the drink and began his own close inspection with a cautionary sniff. "Nothing this...unique."

"Back at the Academy, Phil, all we had access to were the airplane bottles Barton smuggled in when he flew back from Iowa. You want basic, tell Simmons and Skye to stop buying alcohols that color outside the lines." A snowflake, she'd discovered upon researching, included hazelnut liqueur and butterscotch schnapps, vanilla vodka and spiced rum- all things Barton had never managed to get his hands on when the flirtatious steward would offer him a drink and slip over one or two extras on the side. Skye had a colorful taste, as did Simmons, and the two had managed to collect enough eclectic flavors that May had found herself hard pressed to find enough for a _classic_ cocktail.

"I'm sure there's something on the bus."

"We've been stationed here longer than anywhere we've ever been since this team was assembled. I promise you, there's nothing left on the bus...except the spiced rum. Which I've used," She added, watching his eyebrows smoothly climbing a notch. "and I've also tasted."

"May-"

"You wanted me to make you a drink, Phil. I made you a drink." Her own glass was at her elbow, and May lifted it to her lips to swallow a generous amount of the contents. Grape vodka and sprite was a perfectly normal looking drink, and something she'd been curious enough about that she'd taken the opportunity to venture from a comfort zone of bourbon over ice. But she hadn't ventured as far as a snowflake, and had instead chosen Coulson as the worthy guinea pig.

~~~

He'd been surprised, initially, to see something that was similar in color to Kahlua, but had a scent that was nowhere close to the drink he remembered his father being so fond of. His mother had always enjoyed a glass of wine at dinner, while Phil would stare into the murky grey of reconstituted milk and wish there was just a little Hershey's syrup left to add to it. But neither of them had ever done anything different- and certainly nothing that had such a sweet, saccharine smell.

It wasn't like May to go for the unknown- he'd become accustomed to a smooth swallow of whiskey while they poured over strategy, or a martini after she'd hand his ass to him on the mats. They'd done their fair share of sparring over the years, and no matter who the victor- usually her, but once he'd gotten one over on her- they'd share a drink at the bar to celebrate another day well spent.

 _She's changed_ , he reflected, well aware that her steady brown eyes watched him, focusing his own gaze on the dancing ice cubes while he thought about his next move. Drink it, and show faith in her never-failing abilities to mix a drink better than anyone he ever knew; or not drink it, and somehow feel like he was letting her down.

But the faith won out. It always did.

When he swallowed it was smooth, and he let the taste linger on his tongue before opening his mouth to let the cool air fill it. She didn't flinch as he set the glass down, and a familiar, comfortable silence filled the room as he smiled.

"It's better than I thought." _Sweeter than I'm used to_ , he mused, but that was May. She'd warmed up over the course of a year, softened more than he'd expected and become more like the woman he'd met the first, awkward week he'd spent on the Academy campus. "What are you drinking?"

"Vodka," She replied, and even as she lifted it to her lips again he wondered if that was the entire truth of it. The tiny smile told him there was more, but instead of asking he enjoyed the silence...because there was _always_  more, and the fun of what lay behind the smile was in finding out _exactly_ how to wheedle the truth _out_. 


End file.
